The DoomsDay Watch
by Lateral Ganon
Summary: Socially, one of the foremost thoughts in a male university student's mind is 'Get Laid'. Naturally. Plenty of hot new chicks, no gossip. You make a list. But what about when religion gets in the way? Specifically, the god is hunting you down? R&R URST
1. Hell Breaks Loose

_A new story for the Kraithian Arc, this is technically the final installment, occurring... well, you'll see its a very long time after '**Gemstone**' is planned to be, a thousand years in fact. Its thankfully because of that long time gap that I can make a start on this, since the history of the earlier stories is essentially unknown to most of the characters, with those who do know suitably alienated.  
_

_I've sort of based Eleanor around a girl I've seen and similarly had to refer to as Cute Girl for a long time. The basis is physical only, as I don't actually know her particularly well. Hopefully in the unlikely event that she reads this she won't be offended, since I expect the character I've made is considerably more of a pain than she actually is._

_Dislaimer stuff now, I don't own non-original aspects of this story, such as the Pokemon franchise, but I do own my original creations, such as the plot.  
_

_Lateral Ganon_

# # # Chapter Specific Notes # # #

_Italics are thoughts outside of speech, and sarcasm or similar vocal changes within speech._

Kevin makes the story the most M-rated, so don't be too alarmed by him._  
_

Gloria does not have a pronoun error.

Peter has some mentality issues.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Hell Breaks Loose**

As far as anyone could tell, time stood still in these plains. Nothing moved, nothing lived, and nothing changed. This entire continent, ravaged by a stellar cataclysm Eons ago, was the worlds Deadlands. Even in the millennia that had passed, there wasn't a single attempt to re-colonise the land… shunned for the gruesome reminder that was ever-present: The Silver Dead. Frozen forever in that final moment, this entire country was shrouded in a layer of metal. Every building, every plant, every creature, perfectly preserved in form, terror etched firmly into every sentient face, never tarnishing or rusting. Despite these properties, the metal could not be removed, or even scratched, to be used for other purposes. In an age of superstition, whispers of curses passed the lips of those who dared to speak of it. Nowadays, the nation was merely a geologically curiosity taught by geography teachers. But still, no-one had actually set foot on its shores for centuries. There was simply nothing left worth the effort.

* * *

"The Gilded Land has the most curious properties on the planet." Professor Guthnor always liked to start his lessons with, remotely dimming the lights. Behind him, the projector flickered on, giving his class a panorama view of the terrain, a small chain of steel-coated mountains in the centre. He prowled forwards slowly up the central aisle amongst the benches.

"Metal as far as the eye can see. Grasses are like knives underfoot, and trees are magnificent sculptures. Every inch of the land has this coating, which has rendered it immortal essentially. Nothing alive of course, but geologically speaking, this landscape will never change: not in a million years, not in a billion years, just not ever. As far as we can predict, its tectonic plate won't be recycled through subduction or such, and simply put, it'll stay with us until the end of the world. So if you're looking for job security, make a career of studying this place." A small wave of laughter ran amongst the students for a moment, and he allowed it to subside before continuing.

"Further to just the benefit of job security, there's always the opportunity for discoveries, more so than any other subject of research. Simply put, even now we know essentially nothing about the Gilded Land. There are questions for physicists, biologists, engineers, geographers, historians, astronomers, any of which can get your face on the front page of journals." The screen behind cut to the front page of a science journal called "Earth" showing a computer generated photo of a steel coated mountain range, with a small photo of Professor Guthnor's face inset alongside. Several students in the room oohed, and the professor raised his hands modestly.

"Of course, we were working closely with some of the other departments. You could find yourselves working with just about anyone." Glancing up at the room's clock, he clapped his hands once, waking up some lazy students at the back.

"And with that, I think it's about time to end the lecture. Next time I'll be teaching you how we can use the Gilded Lands properties of preservation to gain an insight into the ancient geology of the rest of the world. As usual, I'll be happy to answer any questions anyone has." Of course, ever since the words 'end the lecture' had been said, most of the rest was drowned out by the students scraping bags around and filing notes away. To his relief though, some of the more die-hard students did have questions, and were making there way to the head of the theatre. Rubbing his hands together in glee, he sat on the edge of a separate table at the front. He tilted his head up at the first student, a girl, indicating she could speak.

"Hi, you know that journal cover you brought up?" She started. Guthnor gave a small nod, "Did you actually find anything interesting when you were out there? Because I'm sure that everyone knew it was coated in metal anyway."

He smiled, leaning back as though pondering his answer.

"How do you think I got my professorship?" He replied, "Which program are you studying?"

"Physics. BSc."

"Ah… then you might be interested in the properties of the metal. If you're not busy I can find a booklist that could shed light on things."

"Umm… I've got a lecture in a few minutes, so can I just have the reference for the article?" She asked. He nodded, and handed her a slip of paper to write on.

"You can find it in Earth Volume 380, pages 255 to 290; the last 10 pages are just references."

"Thank you." The girl said before dashing off. Guthnor gave his fluffy orange beard a quick scratch before looking at one of the other students that had stayed behind. A first year student, male this time, took the initiative.

"What did it feel like being out there?" The boy asked. The Professor gave the boy another of his trademark smirks.

"A historian I'd wager."

"Geography, sir." The boy answered sheepishly. Guthnor raised his eyebrows briefly in surprise, the only hair besides his beard, before his features settled on a more endearing expression.

"Good man. Not one of these historians with their head in a cloud growing up watching Indiana Jones. No, definitely not, with the smart shoes and the chequered shirt and-"

"Professor."

"Oh. Sorry. Yes. Feelings. Yes." He looked up at the ceiling again as though a scripted answer was stapled to it, "It was a while ago, but there was a bit of a buzz about being on uncharted territory. It's also humbling knowing you're the only living thing in a hundred miles, besides your team-mates if you count historians as living. Dull chaps. And then of course, the first time you come across Silver Dead…" He paused again to shiver slightly, "You hear the stories but you can't prepare for that sort of thing. That's a true test of your mettle."

"Nice pun sir." The boy said, his own face breaking into an awkward smirk. The Professor just laughed normally at it.

"Thanks very much. And you can drop the 'sir' business, call me Adrian."

"Okay then, Adrian." The boy said awkwardly, "Peter."

"Peter. Keep on top of your studies then Pete." The professor said, waving him off to one side. On his way, Pete deliberately stood on one of his shoelaces, prying it undone. Apparently noticing it, he paused by the doorway, spending notably longer trying to tie it up than it normally would. Of course, he was just stalling for time; the last person with a question was a girl he'd taken particular notice of. Unluckily, the answer the professor had given for his question had put her in a foul mood.

"Did you go near the tower in the Central Mountains?" She asked impatiently. The professor made a shocked expression at her bluntness, and backed up on the table slightly. Weren't brunettes meant to be docile?

"Are you sure you're in this module?" He asked. The girl frowned at him.

"Eleanor. _Dull historian in training._" She replied tersely. He gave a single unconvinced nod.

"That explains the rudeness."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Not unless you fix your tone." He retorted, refusing to be riled. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I wanted to recall if you noticed anything out of the ordinary about the tower, or if you can describe what you know about it. I'm just interested in it."

"Well that was more information than I needed." He began, closing his eyes. She gave a quiet huff of indignation, but remained otherwise silent for him to answer. He opened his eyes again, clasping his hands together on his lap.

"I didn't put much interest in the tower; it was the historians that took the most interest in it. It's covered in the same type of metal as everywhere else, and if it was straight, it would probably be about a mile high. Some radical factions call it a wind sanctuary, a source of meteorological power, saying that monks used to say prayers daily to keep the winds blowing."

"Did they?"

"The thing about radical factions is that they're always wrong. If you're looking for fact, you've probably already researched as much as we know. Probably as much as we'll ever know."

Eleanor gave a curt thank-you, before turning and heading towards the door. Peter edged backwards against the front bench as she passed, and for a split second felt giddy when she turned her head slightly to look at him. Then it registered that her face was showing contempt. And then she was gone, out the door and somewhere else. Pete looked back over to the professor, who was polishing his glasses and yawning.

"Not a very subtle ruse you used." He said. Peter could feel his face heating up.

"Is it that obvious."  
"Glances throughout the lecture? From down here, you can see everything, now, off with you. This theatre's booked for another lecture in 5 minutes, and it's another of those god-awful historian chaps."

* * *

The silvered grass buckled as the caterpillar tracks ran over them, thick tracks of dented undergrowth behind marking the path the vehicle had taken. Thick plumes of exhaust smoke rose above the canopy of mirrored trees, the forest rattling to the sound of the diesel engine. The truck itself had been heavily converted for this country, with every exterior surface as shiny and reflective as the landscape. A viewing tower had been bolted to the top surface in which, through very narrow slits, a yellow eye could be seen… if there was anything outside alive to see it.

Inside the owner of the eye was straining up, stood precariously on a stool welded to the cargo bay floor, his tail swishing impatiently under long robes covering the entirety of his body. He was the sole occupier of the truck, leaving driving and navigation to his computer. It wasn't as though there'd be wild Pokemon to avoid, or traffic to complicate things. Sparing a glance down, he checked for probably the fiftieth time that his knapsack was hung up on the wall by the back hatch. The Lucario's fur bristled as, after resuming his lookout, he noticed that they'd left the forest cover, and were heading out across open 'grassland'. Soon he would atone for his sins. He could make out the silhouette of his challenge ahead on the horizon, nestled amongst the mountain chain which made up the heart of these wastelands. The Temple of Winds.

* * *

The warm orange glow over the west side of the campus as evening approached would be considered a romantic backdrop for much of civilised society. But of course, this was student territory, and such practices were generally replaced with copious amounts of alcohol, the occasional drop of rohypnol, and, Peter expected, a large amount of sickened females the day after. And no-one batted an eyelid, because of course, how else were students going to get laid otherwise? Poor, hygienically dubious and desperate youths, whose idea of a banquet was an 18 inch pizza and a bucket of barbeque Delibird wings. His brother, Kevin, two years his senior and an Arts Major, had fed him the stories of his own wild nights.

"If you're not intending to use a cheesy pick up line, you're gonna get laughed straight out." Said the voice from Peter's laptop. Peter glanced over his shoulder angrily, before returning his attention to his shirt buttons. At some point, his hastily put on jeans had slipped down to his ankles, revealing his Treecko boxer shorts to the laptop's webcam. The boy on the other end of the line tutted.

"If you're expecting to sleep with her tonight, don't bother. If I was a girl, I'd take one look at those pants and put you down as an inexperienced nerd." Kevin sniggered through the laptop. Peter looked down, quickly pulling his trousers back up, before returning his attention to the coat hangers in front of him.

"I've read up. That counts for something." He replied brusquely, receiving an amused huff from Kevin, "I'm not planning on doing her any time soon. I just want to get to know her, that's all."

"And how would you feel if you started dating a girl you knew, banged her and then found out from her that you were a disappointment and wanted to leave you, never talking to you ever again? Huh?" Kevin said, leaning back on the screen triumphantly. Peter paused, staring vacantly into the depths of the wardrobe. He knew exactly how he'd feel if that happened. It wasn't as though he had any past experience; it was just some extreme form of empathy. And he could feel exactly what it would be like, to die of a broken heart. The hollow feeling in his chest; the incessant clawing of inadequacy at his ribcage; the undeniable desire to be isolated; the fear of ending it all. Silently, a tear trickled down his face. Losing someone that close would rip him in two. Hearing no immediate reply, Kevin continued.

"That's why you should just have one-night stands. No-one gets hurt. Everyone just carries on."

"That wouldn't happen." Peter replied quietly, not entirely sure how he was choosing his words, "If she wanted… that, that badly, she wouldn't last very long… I could probably satisfy her. I wouldn't let her down."

On the screen, Kevin cocked an eyebrow, although with Peter still facing his wardrobe, he didn't see it.

"She'd get bored of the same." He stated simply. Peter turned back to face the laptop, having finally done up his shirt.

"I could be imaginative."

"No, I mean bored of you. Girls are just whores, you wouldn't be her only one. Probably wouldn't even be her first."

"Shut up!" Peter said, his face reddening with anger. "She's not a whore, you don't know her."

"Neither do you."

For a few seconds, Peter fumbled about with his hands, making various gestures that portrayed his vexation very clearly, before clamping both hands on the laptop lid, and slamming it shut, cracking one of the hinges. It was very much like his brother to belittle his ideals. Still, at least he didn't give his brother the opportunity to finish the conversation with his usual-

On the desk, his mobile was ringing. Too preoccupied by Kevin's question, he picked it up and flipped it open without checking the caller ID. Kevin's voice started immediately.

"Don't worry; you'll wet your dick in some_thing_ yet." He said, followed by laughing. Howling in rage, Peter looked around his room.

Outside, there was a small splash as a mobile phone was thrown into the pond from one of the windows.

* * *

The Temple was an immense cylindrical structure leaning against the side of one of the mountains, three buttresses attached to surround it. Adorning its side were hundreds of small shrines, each resembling a pod of some kind. The top of the temple tapered to a pointed dome, and as with the rest of the region, was thoroughly metallic. The temple had one outward curiosity about it though, too small to note by explorers which by this point would be weary of their trek: It still had glass for its windows. And on the ledge inside one of the highest windows, a small trinket was perched, resembling a tiny Latios of the kind a jeweller would make. The trinket was fashioned of both gold and silver, and overall, would have been a collector's piece indeed. But of course, Gloria would not be content in a glass case, with a _label_. They were much more content being the Guardian. Then again, much more is in comparison to being stuck in a glass case, so in comparison to being out there in the world having adventures, they were bored pretty stiff. They hadn't moved for centuries, and the vines that grew throughout the structure had even wrapped around Gloria's bulbous back half, the greenish tendrils snaking over their body. Behind Gloria, the vines had taken over the remnants of the room, enveloping tables and chairs, and smothering walls. Various dial faces were cracked where the vines had, over the course of years, forced entrance, and in the centre of the room, two halves of a spherical shell that had been prised open was lathered in lianas.

The last traces of the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the truck had just entered the first foothills of the Central Mountains, making its final approach to the temple. The Lucario had spent the last few hours resting in a hammock suspended at one side of the cargo bay, watching the computer track the trucks progress on a screen on the opposite wall intently. Within half an hour, he'd be home; the wasted years restored.

* * *

The campus coffee shop had considerably less business than those which sold inebriating beverages, but it was still popular amongst the more academically minded. Naturally, Peter was a frequent visitor, and he'd noticed, on random occasions, that girl too. She always came in with a thick book, and would sit reading it from nine in the evening to midnight, ordering 6 coffees over the period. Gradually, he'd figured out that she did this after asking a question at the end of a lecture, making today an opportunity he kept telling himself he couldn't pass up.

Nevertheless, he turned up half an hour late, having procrastinated for as long as he could, before quite simply, snapped into gear and running for the coffee shop. As he pushed open the door, a few of the patrons looked at his sweaty brow and messy shirt curiously, before returning to their own affairs. To his surprise, but convenience, the coffee shop was unusually full, with every table more or less occupied. Scanning over the tables though, a copy of the 'Earth' journal tucked under his arm, he eventually spotted the long mousey hair he recognised, and slowly made his way through towards her. He silently praised any gods that might have existed from the old days for the luck that the only free chairs left were at her table. As expected, she was reading a text-book about half an inch thick, and was nearly a third of the way through it. A small hip flask was placed on the table next to her coffee in a manner that hid it from view at most angles. He chewed his lower lip slightly at the revelation, trying to think how he should react. During the time he was thinking though, she noticed him stood there, and looked up, a frown on her face.

"You're watching me." She said to him coldly. He looked at her face, and then shook his head quickly.

"Sorry, just got distracted by your book." He said, his voice squeaking slightly. She raised an eyebrow at him warily, "I was wondering if you'd mind if I sat here." He gestured to the seat opposite her.

She looked through the room, apparently looking for any other free seats. Evidently, she found none.

"Yes I mind, but I can't really stop you." She muttered. Peter grimaced again, now reluctantly sitting opposite her. It was slightly unnerving that she'd kept looking at his face ever since she'd noticed him, "You're the guy with the Treecko boxers aren't you."

"Oh jeez." He put a hand over his face, and the girl shot him a malicious smirk.

"I knew it. You're that guy in fresher's week that was-"

"I know, I know"

"Pantsed like a dozen times."

"I was there you know." He hissed, very clear that it was something he didn't want to be reminded of, "Can I just read?"

"Now you've been as inconvenienced as me, yes."

Peter huffed and hurriedly opened the magazine, almost tearing it along the spine in his eagerness to put something between him and this girl. He'd finish the coffee he'd pre-emptively ordered, and then he'd be out. Unknown to him, she'd be coming with him.

* * *

The first strike of the adamantium blade shot a cascade of sparks over the metal doorway, seven clunks accompanying the fizz as the blade was dragged through to the bottom. Within an instant, the treatment was repeated for the doors opposite side, the razor effortlessly shearing the ancient deadbolts holding the doorway in place. Barging against the entrance, it collapsed ahead of him, throwing up a cloud of ancient dust. The Lucario smirked, watching as the dust cleared to reveal the open chamber beyond; the way inside the Temple. Exactly as foretold, the Temple itself did not share the impenetrable properties of the rest of the land. Making a few last minute adjustments to his combat trousers, he leapt forwards, eddies of mist churning in his wake.

Everywhere inside was coated in metal, although here it appeared to be more structured… riveted panels and ventilation grates. There were many more deadbolted doors, but a blade slicing down the sides like a hot knife through butter made short work of all of them, the screeching, clangs and bangs of demolished doors ringing through the temple. The Lucario had ten minutes before the guardians could do anything about him, and there were fifteen heavily fortified iron-clad floors between him and his master.

High up in the Temple, Gloria opened their eyes, the tiny ruby and tiny amber both sparkling in alarm.

* * *

Even though Peter was half-heartedly reading the Earth Journal, his thoughts weren't so academic. Mentally he was sifting through a list of girls he'd taken notice of here.

_I wonder what Angry Girl does for hobbies. _He thought, the pet-name referring to a fiery red-head who looked to be in a somewhat constant state of annoyance. He shook his head slightly.

_Probably beating some poor boy up in the bars._

He continued through the list, occasionally nodding, wincing, and tutting. Invariably though, all the comparisons made their way back to Cute Girl. The girl currently in front of him. The girl who at some point, seemed to notice something a little off.

"You haven't turned a page for ten minutes." She said, taking a sip from a new cup of coffee, and glaring at him, "And you're making noises."

_Oh fuck._

"Uh, I just had an idea and I was thinking it over in my head." He replied quickly. The girl gave a small nod, and a faint grin formed behind the cup in her hands.

"Not an academic one."

"You wound me." Peter said melodramatically, closing his eyes and tutting at her, "It was actually an idea on-"

He glanced down at the page he'd stopped on. One page was an advert for gas chromatographs, and the other was just a list of references. Neither of them gave him the inspiration to come up with a convincing lie.

"Private." He finished, not noticing the lack of coherence. The girl sniggered at him callously.

"Your type always thinking about privates." She said, putting the cup down next to the hip flask on the table. Silently, she unscrewed the lid, and held the mouth of the bottle up next to her coffee, pausing a little. She looked back up at him, and gave him a small smile, "You don't mind right?"

Peter wrinkled his nose up at the flask, the faint odour of vodka rapidly reaching him, but resentfully closed his eyes and looked back down at the table.

"Damn you." He sighed quietly. She gave a triumphant smirk, and tipped a small shot-glass worth of the liquor into the cup, before downing the mixture in a single hearty gulp.

"I've never been 'damned' for my habits before." She said, setting the cup back on its saucer, "Are you one of these religion people?"

Peter glanced away awkwardly. There hadn't been accepted religions for centuries, ever since mathematicians had been able to conclusively disprove miracles. But of course, an omniscient, omnipotent, immortal being is harder to kill than simple logic, and through the ages, a few of them had sneaked into the literature. When he was younger, he was amazed by their powers and made a hobby of reading as many of the stories as he could find.

"No." He replied flatly, "Just kinda interested."

It was unusual to see both her eyebrows shoot up together, in a look that could only be described as intrigue. She looked back down at her textbook, flicking back through the pages.

"An interest in religions?" She asked, still scrutinising her book. Peter nodded slightly, not particularly wanting to be branded some kind of cultist. Apparently finding her page, she smiled at him, sincerely for the first time.

"What do you know about the Eonic Gods?"

He tilted his head slightly, and gave a non-committal shrug. Technically, the Eonic Gods should have been the most well known, or should have evolved into the prevalent religion of the world, but for some odd reason, they had descended into obscurity. At some point in the past, the gene pools of Eons and Humans had become mixed together, also presenting a mixing of cultures. With humans being sceptical about their own gods, the Eonic Gods would have been allowed to fill the vacuum. Somehow though, the knowledge had become scarce when Latias and Latios in their pure forms had become extinct in the world. The girl gave an exasperated sigh.

"That's a no then. Can we scan com chips, and you call me if you find out anything?"

_Wait a sec, I'm not your lapdog.._

"I don't even know your name."

"Eleanor."

* * *

The door in front of him was stronger than the rest, the edges precision milled to not even give a millimetre to slide the knife down. Tapping it, he could hear it was thick, mostly hollow, and filled with various mechanisms ensuring it remained locked. It was for this reason that he was carrying his knapsack. Reaching into it, he pulled out several orange brick-sized pieces of slightly sticky plastic, pressing them into the corners of the doorway. Explosives. Wiring them up to a detonator as a matter of course, he trailed the fuse back around a corner. Sparing a last glance to ensure the charges were in place, he fired; the sound reverberating through the Temple like a thunder crack.

Despite the long slumber, Gloria didn't suffer the dozy time that fleshy creatures would have. Ripping free of their vine coating, they flew straight at the nearest vent, their alloyed form easily punching through the inferior metal grate.

Before the debris could settle, the Lucario was running through again, his heart pounding against his ribs. Ever since he was a cub, the Cult Elders had told him the stories of the power of God, and the laws it had imposed to keep the world in order, laws that only the cult still abided by. He asked the Elders 'Where is God now?' when he heard the tale, knowing of the depravity that pervaded the world he'd been born into, and that God must have been gone. The Elders always looked solemn when they recalled how an uprising of mortals ignorant of the natural order had taken place, tricking and imprisoning God; a story which always made him cry whenever he recalled it. As the decades passed, his tears dried to be replaced with a fiery zealotry to find the accursed prison, and release their Master. In his apprentice years, besides dying his fur permanently green, he'd raided vast amounts of archives for any shred of knowledge on the subject, buying or stealing any ancient tomes in marketplaces that took his fancy. Piece by piece, the gaps in the stories were filled. Now an Elder in his own right, there was no better time to make the expedition.

This room was far more open than the corridors he'd been running through. Circular in shape, and probably over a dozen floors high, he'd entered onto one of many balconies ringing the central space, slender pillars of red and blue marble rising to breach the levels. Had a historian entered, they'd have drooled over those pillars, monuments to Ancient Eonic architecture as they were. Whilst not a historian however, the Lucario was still drooling. Pulling back his hood and raising his thick goggles to ensure his eyes weren't deceiving him, he slowly lumbered forwards, his jaw falling open and in his excitement, forgetting control of his bladder. His padded feet touching the floor the only sound, he slowly approached the edge of the balcony, resting his hands on the railing for support. Looking up, his suspicions were confirmed. _Hovering_ in the empty space, a rope of thick stone coiled up, its surface interrupted with glyph-like ridges, small flat outgrowths in groups of four, and further up a pair of expertly carved taloned arms. At the uppermost end of the statue, a pointed head was fashioned, baring vicious fangs, and four tips pointed back along the body. Only a matter of metres away, trapped by the ancient heretics, was his eternal Master. The God of Death. The Bane of Eons. The Master of Altitude. The Beast Rayquaza.

* * *

Boys were dense creatures, Eleanor knew, but since hearing her name, he hadn't even moved, his jaw just hung slackly on that typical idiot mug. Evidently needing to top up his attention, she held her chip up in her fingertips.

"Chip. Yes or no." She said, changing her tone to remind him of her impatience. He erred gormlessly, and she was sorely tempted to boot him under the table. Had he been a date, she would have done since she'd have been wearing high heels.

"Look, you'll know things. Stories, practices, little titbits." She whispered, leaning forwards and resting on her elbows, resting her chin on laced fingers, "I'd like to know what you know. Helps with studies and things."

Apparently suddenly regaining awareness of the situation, he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"I don't know." He replied, dragging the hand across his cheekbone, "Just children stories."

"They don't have those in books anymore." She encouraged. He let out a small groan of annoyance, "Peter…"

"Why me? Am I special?" He asked, surprising her by looking straight in her face. A disturbing tactic to be sure, but not one she was unused to, and she simply looked away. Manipulation was quite natural to her, as with any girl, and she knew how to play coy.

"Maybe?" She said, giving him a furtive glance just long enough for him to definitely notice, before looking away again and playing with her fingers, "A nice chat you know?"

She inwardly smirked as she saw the defenceless male fold in front of her, and slowly reaching down to fumble in his pockets for his com chip. Holding her own chip up again, she watched as he moved his chip next to it apprehensively. After a second, the small beep confirmed the exchange, and the smirk developed on her face.

"Thanks." She said, returning her attention to her textbook to hide her triumph, "I'll call you this evening."

"Don't mention it." He said awkwardly, having resigned himself to being interrogated by her daily until she was satisfied she'd heard all the stories. He wasn't looking forwards to it.

She gave him a reassuring smile, albeit one which still looked predatory, before turning the page in her book again.

Peter slowly put his chip back in his pocket, feeling slightly dejected. Sure, he'd got a hot girl's number, but not for the reasons that his brother would have wanted to get numbers off girls for. Then again, thinking about it, he wasn't sure if he wanted numbers for _that_ reason. Suddenly though he was finding it a lot harder to try and maintain his train of thought, there was something clanking to his left, loud metal clinks. And then came the roar: a screeching, ravenous, blood curdling roar; the sound of a mighty predator moving in for the kill. He spun around in his chair to look east, the direction the sound was coming from, the same direction that Eleanor was glaring at in defiance.

* * *

The Lucario looked past the statue, searching the ceiling of the area. It didn't take long to spot the glowing blue stone embedded there, faint tendrils of an archaic energy seeping down from it and fizzling out of view after a few metres. Switching his gaze to the space under the statue, a similar stone, purple in hue, was set in place with its energy radiating up. He knew these stones from his research. The bottom one was a Deoxys core. The top one was a more stable mimic controlling it. Together, they were the locks the heathens had placed here. He tutted at the idiocy of those people, and slowly reach back onto his pack, untying a small version of rocket launcher from its side. Cradling it in his arms, he took careful aim at the orb in the ceiling.

"May God have feastings on your souls."

And he fired.

The rocket blasted up through the room, vapour trails of blazing hot gases corkscrewing out behind it. For the first time in a millennium, the chamber was filled with roaring as it careered towards the top core, impacting with the crystal with a tumultuous shattering. White hot shards of the now annihilated core showered down to the ground, twinkling in the halogen light. The casing that had supported the crystal had been blackened and warped by the impact, only hanging on to the ceiling by a few wires, which themselves were on fire. After a few seconds, the device gave way, snapping off the roof and plummeting towards the floor, narrowly missing the head of the Rayquaza. In a cacophony of crushing metal, it landed on the bottom core, piercing the unstable crystal and prising apart its support. Inside the heap of debris, the Deoxys crystal let out a screeching sound, much akin to nails on a blackboard. Outside, waves of energy now leeched unchecked from the damaged core, the tendrils from before diffusing as the energy escaped. From the walls of the room, creaking and clinking sounds were making themselves known, the floor beneath the Lucario trembling as ancient safeguards tried to control what was rapidly becoming a losing battle. Gears on the walls were spinning and clinking, driving some unknown mechanism. As the shaking became more violent, dust could be seen falling from the crevices as it was dislodged. Finally, the remnants of the core below simply exploded, showering the decks below with white-hot metal shrapnel and purple fragments of crystal. Now with the locks broken, God would be released. The glyphs on the Rayquazas body began to glow, the tower rumbling in earnest.

Gloria finally entered the Sanctuary chamber the Beast had been housed in, but too late. They saw that the safeguards had been shattered, and reanimation was beginning. At the tip of the beasts tail, the stone was reverberating, sloughing the granite layers like a snake to reveal the green skin beneath it. With cracks like gunshots, the wave of rock being thrown off proceeded up along its body. Before long, there was enough tail free to writhe around desperately. Within another second, the first node was free. Despite the chaos of trying to navigate falling dust streams, Gloria began to fly towards the Beast's head. By the time they'd reached it, the Rayquaza's arms had been freed, and there was only a matter of time before-

The stone ensnaring its head cracked and blasted off with explosive force, the shard of stone which had made up the left side of its face sweeping Gloria out of the air. Landing on one of the upper decks, the impact crushed a dent into the metal floor trapping them under the shard.

The second the stone that had been its mouth had gone, the Rayquaza finished the roar it had started a thousand years ago, the roar the Eons would hear as its hunting call. The sound shook the hall harder than the hall had been shaking itself, inadvertently practically deafening the Lucario. But the Lucario didn't care; he was too busy gazing at his God in thorough adoration. As the roar ended, the Rayquaza stopped, and looked around to see where it was. True, it had no idea how much time had passed, but it did know that it had been trapped, and its assailants might still be here. It took a few moments to spot the tiny Lucario on one of the platforms, waving and calling out to it. It moved down to be eye-level with the Lucario.

"My Lord!" He cried out to the Rayquaza, "We have waited centuries for you to return to us, to restore the world to as it should."

The Rayquaza gave a quiet growl of understanding his words.

"Many religions have come and gone in your absence, but we held strong Master. You are the one true god! I knew one day I would be the one to bring you back to us, that one day you would bring redemption to the virtuous and-"

Whatever the Lucario had intended to say would never be known, as the Rayquaza snapped its head forwards and swallowed the Lucario whole.

"Too long, did not listen." It muttered to itself. Taking only a second to look around its prison, it fired a hyper beam at the wall, burning a hole straight through. Wasting no time, it slithered through the hole and back into the world.

If there was anyone around to hear it, someone would just be able to hear the faint scratching underneath a particularly thick piece of stone.

* * *

Peter was still watching the wall fearfully. That sound was not natural and not friendly. Looking across to Eleanor, she still had the sour look on her face, similarly aimed in that direction.

"Hey, what are you looking at me for?" A boy on the next table between their table and the wall asked. Eleanor frowned at him.

"I thought I heard you say something about me. My mistake." She answered matter of factly, before looking at her book. The boy turned to Peter instead.

"Then what's your reason chump." He called over. Peter bumbled a bit, and Eleanor surreptitiously watched him.

"Oh, err. I saw her looking at you, and I was wondering why she was looking at you. Nice hair by the way, I'm thinking of getting mine cut like that."

The boy gave him a disturbed look, before resuming his attention to his burger. Eleanor tapped Peter's foot with hers, tapping a finger on the desk lightly for him to come closer.

"You're a bad liar." She whispered to him.

"So?"

"If I ask you questions in future, don't lie to me." She said, closing her book and standing up, "It doesn't end well."

Before she could let him ask another question, she'd walked out. Either his reactions were the same as a Slowpoke, or that girl was just too damn fast. Probably the former when he took another few minutes to think about it. Whilst he was thinking though, he'd noticed he wasn't the only one that had suddenly developed a peculiar interest in the east wall. A handful of the other patrons were showing signs of discomfort, particularly the one which had randomly fainted.

Five minutes later, for absolutely no apparent reason, he jumped up, and bolted out of the doorway, half a cup of coffee still steaming in his place.


	2. Hands Off What You Can't Afford

_Goodness knows how long I've taken getting chapters up, this one's been on the cards since at least October. Enjoy hopefully, I probably won't be able to get many more done if any until August. I have a serious backlog of University work to contend with._

_Lateral Ganon_

# # # Chapter Specific Notes # # #

_Italics are still generally showing a character thinking_

This chapter takes fuller advantage of the M-rating,  
there is somewhat frequent swearing and adult  
themes involved. Even in the chapter title.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Hands Off What You Can't Afford**

The Cult of Strato, as religions go, is very rigid and formalised despite the anarchic tag that the rest of the populace placed on the heads of divinity believers. Worshipping the Rayquaza, they were one of many which wept forlornly over the loss of the Ages of Gods, but one of the most resolute in their conviction that their patron deity would return one day in glory.

A monk clad in thick green robes was walking up the stone staircase that spiralled along the inside of the church's observatory tower, his hands pressed together inside the sleeves to try to ward off the bitter chill from the snowstorm outside. The Cult had taken over this ruined church at the northernmost point of Sinnoh, dozens of miles north of Snowpoint. They'd renovated it as their headquarters, and it had been home to the Cult's most devoted followers ever since they're been chased out of their ancestral halls in Sinnoh's centre decades ago by the Great Rationality.

As he climbed higher, a few more wisps of snow blew in through the narrow slits which once would have served as archer's lookouts. For all the technology they'd installed in the place somehow they'd managed to neglect the need for windows, stuffing many of the holes with old rags. Of course, that did nothing to deaden the cold. Reaching the top of the stairs, he swiftly flicked open the trapdoor, immediately allowing the full brunt of the snowstorm to assail him. The torrent of mind-numbingly cold sleet was quick to soak his robes through but regardless he pushed onwards onto the roof of the tower, the wind slamming the trap door shut behind him as he let it go. Shivering earnestly, and with no visibility to help, the monk placed a gloved hand on the edge of the tower's parapet, following the border. His other hand was outstretched the opposite way, grasping for the edge of the doorway into the observatory dome. After several swiping misses his hand hit the doorframe, and without a second to waste he swung himself at the door; barging through it and slamming it behind him in one deft movement.

Now the observatory was hardly any better than outside, the only difference really was that a thin layer of aluminium protected them from actually being pelted with snow. The temperature was still low enough to glue your tongue to the wall if for some reason the idea of licking the wall entered your head, and there was no-one to talk to until your shift at the scope was over. The previous shift's operator was still at the telescope's eye, earpieces clearly visible running to a music player in his pocket. The monk could sympathise with the acolyte's boredom at this post - keeping watch for the return of God. Lowering his own hood and brushing some of the snow off himself, he plucked the player from the man's pocket and paused it.

"Your shift is over brother." He said quietly, slipping the player back into the man's robes, "How are the viewing conditions tonight?"

"Besides the snowstorm… good… good."

"And your choice of music?"

"Death Metal today."

The monk nodded, familiar with that genre amongst the acolytes. It was an amalgamation of the death screams of Pokemon hybrids at the hands of sharp metal implements. Quite expensive taste, considering the lengths that had to be taken to acquire it.

"Good… good. May your feasts be red."

"May your feasts be red." The acolyte responded respectfully before gathering up his possessions and relinquishing the bench for the monk. The monk nodded appreciatively, and positioned himself at the eyepiece. The howl of the snowstorm flared up briefly behind him as the acolyte left, before he was left alone again. Taking out a music player of his own he plugged it in and slipped on the headphones, settling in for the night shift.

* * *

Anyone that knew Peter would tell you he was too stubborn to drink. It was similarly futile to try and get him to buy the round, the rumour being that he was a tightwad and would only pay for his own drinks. To be fair, he wouldn't let anyone else pay for his drinks if they offered to buy a round, but as team players went, definitely a stick in the mud. A heavy stick in thick mud.

Peter was sat at a table for two, facing the wall. To be fair, table is misleading; it was more of a plank nailed into the wall about a metre and a half up. A ledge would be a more suitable term. A lonely ledge. With two shabby barstools serving it. One arm rested on the ledge, a small glass of cola in his hand. His other hand was surreptitiously held in his lap, holding a scrap of paper he'd written various things on. It was his crib sheet he'd made about the habits of his intriguing girls and having written off Eleanor, he was now trying his luck with one he'd named Sweet Girl, named for her innocent mannerisms. Kevin of course would have commented on her knockout breasts, but Peter wasn't a breast man. More erring towards leg. Topside assets were to be considered more of a bonus.

Glancing at his watch and back at the door again, he smiled as Sweet Girl walked in right on cue. Of course, she'd head to her usual table, and then her other girl friends would join her and they'd gossip as girls do. Of course, in his preoccupation with his list, he hadn't noticed that three boys were already sat at her table, clearly also having been waiting for her.

"Hey, Jess!" Called out a burly ginger one, one of the sports jocks judging by the team sweater he was wearing, "How are you man, we were hoping you'd drop by."

Sweet Girl gave the boys a cursory look over, and then smiled kindly.

"How nice of you. Have you been waiting long?" She asked, all the while Peter jotted down the new pieces of information, namely her name, and the odds that she may already be attached. The guy to the ginger jocks left shrugged indifferently.

"Nah, not long. You want a drink? It's my round."

"Oh sure, does the barman do Butterscotch Delight?" She asked. The boys nodded, and she clapped her hands in glee, "Can I have that? Thank you so much!"

The boy who'd offered to buy the round stood up, and slyly winked at his companions. The rugby jock just swatted his flank to tell him to get a move on, whilst the final boy, who hadn't said a word yet, made a small frowning gesture and pointed up at the girls face.

"Hey, Jess. Is that a smudge of eyeliner?" He asked. Now, even by student standards, it was a very rude thing to comment on a girl's make-up so blatantly. For a night out like this, they'd typically take the best part of an hour preening themselves in the hope that it would look natural, so any comment at all even insinuating they were wearing make-up was essentially an insult.

Jess reflexively brought her hand up to her eye, actually smudging it, before immediately diving into her handbag for a small mirror. Scrutinising herself for less than a second (the time it takes for a typical girl to convince herself that she has something wrong with her), she gasped, before flinging the mirror back into her bag.

"Back in a minute." She whimpered, before bolting out of the bar; probably to the bathrooms. The two remaining boys looked at each other, and gave each other a high-five. Less than ten seconds later, the third boy came back with a tray carrying three typical beers and one Butterscotch Delight. The sports jock took the drinks off the tray one by one and, with a speed born from regular practice, he added a few drops from a small bottle to her cocktail as he set it down. Taking his own beer in hand, he held it up for the other two to toast. The boys were muttering something Peter couldn't hear but, judging from the unfortunately obvious bulge growing in the trousers of the boy that had brought the tray, it was of a perverse nature. Apparently also noticing it the jock swiftly rapped the boy's thigh, informing him of his predicament, and ushering him to sit down quickly.

Peter was the witness of a crime in the making.

* * *

The university library could be considered to be very well equipped, with e-subscriptions to every piece of regular academic press, and physical deliveries of many of the most respectable in their fields. Whilst its opening hours were limited, and its librarians pushy to the point of arrogance, given long enough, anything anyone wanted to know was hidden in its depths.

Eleanor had left for that library as it turned out, and was trying to put in a request for access to the special collections; the Universities rare and generally irreplaceable books, a request that was being repeatedly denied by the librarian on duty.

"Please. I only need to see the Legends Codices." She requested again. The Librarian shook his head again, and drummed his fingers on the desk.

"You need to make an application in advance and get it authorised by the faculty dean." He stated, pulling out a form from under the desk with his other hand, "Here, if you get that submitted in the morning, it should be authorised by next Wednesday. But without that, you're not getting in."

"Look," Eleanor brushed back a lock of hair which her fury had knocked loose, "If what I think is happening, pretty much every intellectual institution in the world is about to rendered obsolete. Tonight."

"So you need to see this book to save the world of academia then." The librarian sarcastically stated, rolling his eyes and fidgeting with the form. Eleanor scowled at him, since the way he'd worded it, whilst pretty much summarising exactly what she said, had completely belittled her point.

"How about a wager then. You've heard of the Strato Cult. If they start putting out a message that their 'god' has returned, with proof, by tomorrow, you owe me access to the special collections. Under my terms."

The librarian raised his eyebrows in shock, before an insidious grin crept across his face.

"That's a pretty hefty request. What do I get if they don't?"

"Name it. But they will."

The librarian thought for a few minutes, eying the girl as he did so. An assistant in the libraries would be useful, particularly one which didn't have to be paid. And then the idea of a personal slave began to appeal to him for other reasons.

"I could lose my job if I said." He said, making it clear what he had in mind. Eleanor nodded.

"Only if you lost. So then, deal?"

"That's fi-"

"In writing." She said, now with a triumphant grin of her own. The Librarian blanched a little, but if it was in writing, she couldn't back down, and he _thought_ he couldn't lose his job if she'd agreed. Turning the form over, he wrote up a summary of their agreement, including the terms of victory and the prizes each had been allocated.

"Access to the special collections under her terms… There, signature now."

Eleanor took the form, and still smirking throughout signed it without a pause. Passing it back over the counter to him, she jeered.

"Last chance to back out. You could still save face by just letting me in the collections now. No-one would be any the wiser."

The librarian took the pen, and with only a glimmer of hesitation signed his own name. It didn't help his attempts to resist by the fact that in leaning over, Eleanor had deliberately given him the very faintest glimpse of her cleavage.

"And photocopy." She said, watching as he photocopied it, before swiping the original off the machine, "Since I'm the one the odds are _clearly_ so stacked against, it's fair if I take the original. I'll be coming to collect my keys tonight so make sure you stay in."

And with that, she left the flustered librarian at his desk, grinning to herself at her manipulative prowess.

* * *

Peter was watching the doorway restlessly. By now Jess's other friends should have come in to join her. Amongst the throng of about ten girls, she should have been protected from an attempted date rape by the safety of her friends… unless there was enough in that bottle to drug all of them, which would have been a veritable travesty to try and arrange. Certainly beyond the capabilities of a sports jock to orchestrate.

The door opened again to admit a couple of giggling girls, and Peter sighed in relief when he recognised them as some of Jess's crowd of friends. The boys were less pleased to see them judging by the scowls of annoyance that flashed over their faces, although by the time the girls had sat down with them, they were acting nothing less than the epitome of popular. Immediately, the jock's two accomplices moved around to chat up the new girls, although they'd positioned themselves in such a manner to ensure that the space left for Jess to sit was in the corner of their vision. Peter tutted… to figure out something that cunning one of the boys had to be a secret nerd. That wouldn't help his 'street cred'.

"If you're looking to pick up a girl, I wouldn't sit at the Loners Locker." A familiar feminine voice said from behind him. Spinning around in his seat, he looked at the girl who had taken the other seat with him. Melinda he recalled, a girl who'd dyed her hair a frankly ghastly shade of pink and whose acquaintance was generally associated with those luckless in love. Naturally, she'd paid him visits like this in the past. Peter hissed in annoyance, looking around quickly to see if anyone had noticed he'd attracted the attention of 'The Girl Guide'. Fortunately for him, no-one seemed to be interested in that fact.

"Fuck off." He hissed again at her, his fingers clenching around his glass in annoyance as though he'd find the strength to shatter it and then throttle her. Melinda settled an elbow on the ledge, resting the side of her head on the hand.

"If I was you I'd be more grateful than that, considering."

"Well I'm sorry," he started, with blatant sarcasm, "but I'm a bit preoccupied."

"Not with a girl of course."

"Fuck off! I'm not gay!"

"Well if you'd followed the advice, you'd have a girl by now."

"If I followed your advice, I'd never get a girl in my life. I was-"

"Checking out Jessica. Don't bother. She's too innocent to know if anyone has intentions. Even if Carl over there-" She tilted her head across to the jock, "Tried saying anything, he wouldn't be able to date her."

"He's not after a date, he's after a shag. He's rohypnoled her."

Melinda gave Peter her full attention, rather than her more languid half-look he'd been receiving before. Her full face in his was not a pretty sight but after recognising he wasn't joking she stared at Carl intently. The small bulge from the bottle up his left sleeve was further confirmation, and a glance later confirmed the fears of any girl. Jessica had the glass to her lips.

Jumping up fast enough to send the barstool flying Melinda ran at her, screaming Jessica's name. Barely three strides later for the large girl Melinda swatted the glass out of Jessica's hands, shattering the glass on the table which, if Mel's screaming hadn't been noticed, gained the full attention of the bar. Silence quickly fell, interrupted only by the drips from the ruined cocktail off the side of the table, and quiet sobbing on Jessica's part. Peter recoiled as he saw that Mel's actions shattering the glass had lacerated Jessica's small hands, streaking the white skin with red. Throughout the instance, Mel had remained at Jess's table, breathing heavily in a manner that would remind anyone of a Tauros just before it would charge. She was glaring at Carl and his two assistants lividly.

"You tried to date-rape her." She told them, earning shocked gasps from the bars onlookers. Carl opened his mouth to say something, but she pounded her fist against the remaining clean area of the table.

"You wretch! Can't find a willing hole so you decided to coerce one? That what you were thinking?"

"We didn't do anything to her drink." Carl said. A few of the onlookers sniggered, to which Mel looked up and smiled around the room. She dropped one hand into her jeans pocket.

"It seems there are people here who know what I'm about to do." She said smugly, drawing out a small matchbox from the pocket. Holding it up for everyone to see, she opened it, and pulled out a small yellow strip of paper, "I think even you know what this is."

She brought the strip down to the table, dipping an end of it into the remaining puddle of the cocktail. The nerd assistant held his breath as he watched the paper turn red.

"Shit" The boy whispered, barely audible. A chemical test strip which had just proved the presence of rohypnol in solution. Carl shot the boy a fierce look, before returning his attention to Mel.

"I don't know how it got in."

"Left sleeve, 50ml bottle, clear as day. Thicker people than you have figured out to put a drop in the end of a straw instead."

The two assistants looked at each other as though the idea was a stroke of genius, and Mel noticed their exchange, shook her head warningly.

"If you do that I will personally tear off any virility you have with my bare hands." She rasped at them, causing them both to shield their crotches with their hands. She looked at the nerdy one, scrutinizing his face.

"Just a minute… I know you; I gave you advice about three weeks ago."

"Can I just die now?" He said, resenting being identified as one of her luckless lads. Mel shook her head.

"How did you get involved?" She asked. The boy continued to avert eye-contact.

"He said we could get in second and thi-" The boy was cut off by a loud thud underneath him and he scrunched up his face in pain, a strangled noise escaping his throat. Everyone in hearing range winced oohed in empathy, including Peter who'd seen what the injury actually was. The sort of thing that would make any grown man shed tears of agony. Safe to say, she'd only have to 'dis-member' one of them in future. Melinda turned back to Carl, each staring daggers at each other.

"You're a nosy bitch." He growled, balling his hands into fists.

"And you're a failed excuse for a man, having to get his sex-fix by drugging up girls that are trusting you. Oh yeah, and failing at that too. Failed student, failed rapist, failed human being. Best word to describe you? Let's call you FuckTard. I bet you fail in bed too if it wasn't for half a bottle Viagra propping you up."

"Say that again. I dare you." Carl warned, cracking his knuckles ominously. So apparently you shouldn't hit a girl, but this one was built like him. Big and burly. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been born male. Even Peter had sometimes considered the possibility. Placing both hands flat on the table and leaning forwards to goad him, she responded.

"Failed… fucker."

"Again."

"You really like being told how low you are. You… are… a filthy… failed… fucker."

At that, Carl leapt up, knocking the table over, and made an ill-conceived attempt to throttle Mel. Anticipating of course, she'd reached out to grab his arms, before the whole affair became a brutal wrestling match, smashing any furniture which got in the way of the brawl to splinters.

Some immature members of the crowd began whooping and chanting 'fight', whilst others backed away to give the combatants a makeshift ring. Peter could see that those who'd originally been seated at the table had gathered to one side of the area, where the two friends were giving Carl's assistants pieces of their minds, one battering them with handbags, the other relying on nails. Both conspirators of course were howling, hemmed in by the crowd. Jessica on the other hand, was notably absent, her prior location only being marked with a few drips of blood escaped from her hands. Further from the melee, a few more drips had splattered, and following them further, led a trail out the doorway.

* * *

Far in the north, high above the surface of the world, the Rayquaza was corkscrewing through the air lazily; reacquainting itself with its muscles. It would take some practice before it would be able to fly at its full speed and agility again, but even in the millennium as a rock it still knew how to be the top predator. It was concerned though about how the Eon species had handled the ages as, even though the dragon could smell the familiar odour from escaping its prison, the scent was weak and conflicting. Not yet had a single Eon been encountered. And it was hungry.

Far below, on the top of a tower, no longer hindered by a snowstorm, a telescope was pointing directly at the Rayquaza, following every twist and turn. And behind the eyepiece, an overjoyed monk.

* * *

Eleanor shivered slightly in the cold night air on campus, her scarf wrapped as tight around her neck as it could before she'd have difficulty breathing. Winter was probably her fourth favourite season. As far as she was concerned, low temperatures could go to hell. And melt. She'd sometimes wished that she'd applied for a university in the warmer region of Hoenn, but Alamos University offered the most comprehensive course on history; a subject her family had always obsessed over. At some point in her youth she'd developed the habit as well, much to the joy of her parents who had awarded her with nearly a dozen historical text-books.

The University was quite dull building-wise, even though the campus was listed Grade II for its national importance in showing archaic building styles. Plenty of grey concrete, dark-tinted glass, and metals. Considering the comparative beauty of Old Alamos City on the plateau below, it was a shame that the architects a mere century or two ago didn't decide to try and mimic that design to make the University blend in better.

Of course, in her ponderings she'd continued walking, and with all the buildings looking like each other, she'd found herself lost on a courtyard overlooking a fountain on the level below. After a brief attempt to find her bearings, she swore in annoyance.

"For fucks sake!" She yelled to the night, reluctantly pulling out her phone for the sat-nav. Sweeping her fingertip over the screen several times, the program opened, displaying her a vague map of the Sinnoh region. A few verbal commands for it later brought out a crude pixelated Pidgey-eye view of the university, various markers displaying where people she'd added, or at least their com chips, currently were. However, one such tag was unnervingly close, distracting her from trying to find her way back to her flat. Apparently Peter was barely 20 metres away from her. Glancing over at where the courtyard overlooked the fountain she slowly walked to the edge, looking over to see what he was doing being so close, and to yell at him to stop following her.

* * *

Now it was true that Peter was by that fountain on the level below, however her reasoning had let her down. Peter had been following Jessica's trail, intent on making sure she was okay. Simply by virtue of there _being_ a trail still, she clearly wasn't, so his priority had switched from find and comfort to find and get to the hospital.

Jessica, for some reason, had stopped at the fountain. When Peter arrived, he spotted that she was curled up on one of the benches with her hands held in front of her, sobbing at them. He shivered, both from the cold, and seeing her so vulnerable. Well… her demeanour usually made her look vulnerable anyway, but now was more of a vulnerability that you couldn't turn a blind eye to.

"Jessica…" He called out to her quietly, hoping not to startle her. He failed, and he winced as she jumped up off the bench and tried to back away from him.

"Don't come near me!" She cried hysterically, her eyeliner streaked (again) down her cheeks from her tears. He held up his hands to gesture he was unarmed, obviously, and not intending to hurt her.

_Wait, what if she thinks I'm making fun of her for having intact hands? Put them down._

He put his hands back down quickly.

_No! No! She might think you're going to strangle her! Put them back up!_

He put the hands back up again.

_What are you doing? That was a 'I'm going to throttle you' sign! Hands down!_

He put them down again. In all the flurry of his arms, she'd become confused about his intentions.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to wave at me?" She asked, her tears stalling. Peter sweatdropped and put both hands on his head.

"I'm trying to say I want to help you."

"Oh." She slowly nodded her head in understanding, but not with conviction. As Peter took a step forwards though, she took two more steps back, forcing him to stop still again as her tears returned.

"What do you want?"

Rather than give a verbal answer, he quickly mimed putting his hands up, down, up again, down again, then back on his head. She smiled slightly, but still remained cautious.

"You want to help me."

"Yes."

She nodded slowly again, before taking a step towards him. He remained in place, with his hands on his head. She paused a few metres away from him, looking at him studiously.

"Take your hands off your head." She said, to which he obliged rather faster than she'd expected and she took another step back in alarm. He put his hands back on his head.

"Jessica, you need to get to a hospital. You're bleeding a lot."

"I'm a girl, I can bleed."

"TOO MUCH INFORMATION!" Peter yelled, pushing his palms over his eyes. She snorted out a laugh, and looked back down at her hands. Whilst they looked pretty bad to her, she also thought that since they were only stinging a little now like a graze would, that they were fine. What she wasn't aware of was that she was beginning to go into shock.

Peter looked down as he felt his pocket rumble. His phone was ringing. Plucking it out, and flicking it open, he gave the caller ID a brief glance before snapping it back shut again; ending the call. Jessica gave him a curious look.

"Insistent mother?"

"Wrong number." He said quickly, pocketing his phone again, "May I look at your hands?"

She nodded slowly again, and held both her hands up for him. He stepped forwards, causing her to tense up again as he took hold of her hands. Careful to avoid touching any blood, he turned them over to inspect both sides, with her watching carefully throughout.

"You don't talk like a student."

"Oh?"

"With the 'May I'. Too polite." She said again, pulling her hand back slightly, "It's not realistic."

"Hey. I like having manners. And if you don't like them then fuck you." He replied, although the anger was clearly absent. She shrugged slightly.

"A bit of a contradiction there."

"I know, I'm sorry."

Holding her smaller slender hands in his, the romancer in him was sorely tempted to kiss them, but he held himself together. Now was not the time, particularly since her hands had been lacerated quite thoroughly. Her palms bore the brunt of the injury, one large slash across the palm and several almost parallel cuts alongside. Fortunately there didn't appear to be any glass trapped in them, but he couldn't tell for certain.

"These are quite nasty. They'll need washing out and bandaging up by a professional." He said, releasing her hands slowly, and opening his bag, digging around for a first-aid kit.

"A doctor?"

"Yep."

"The hospital is just over the road from where I live, so I'll stop by. My mum thought it would be a good idea." She said matter-of-factly. Peter nodded knowingly, trying to pull out the box from where it was wedged in.

_No kidding…_

"So you know the way back?"

"Yeah its…" As she looked around the square, she seemed to notice an inconvenience, "The opposite side of campus."

"Ah… Why were you going this way?" He asked as he unwound a bandage from its roll.

"I don't know!" She cried out, laughing, "I'm just daft."

"Well, I wouldn't say daft." He countered slowly, giving her hands a brief wrapping each, "Just… unusual."

"Yeah!" She responded jubilantly, "Aren't we all."

"Indeed." He replied awkwardly, admiring his handiwork, "Those should stop you losing any more blood on the way. Are you sure you can get to the hospital on your own?"

"I didn't say that." She said quickly, "But I can manage if you're busy."

"I'm not busy." He interjected hurriedly, "I'll take you if you want."

It became apparent that his choice of wording wasn't ideal, as she became slightly less at ease at being reminded what had almost took place.

"I don't want to waste your time." She said quietly, now looking for the path out of the fountain area, "I'll be fine on my own."

_Damnit._

Peter closed his eyes and nodded. He recognised the blow off, and any disagreement would just make things worse.

"Okay then. Goodnight, and get well soon."

"Goodnight." She mirrored. Before rushing away in the direction of the hospital. Peter started wandering around the fountain slowly, hanging his head in front of him in thought.

_That failed…_ One part of his mind commented.

_Yeah, but it also could have gone a lot worse._ Another part argued defensively, _she's not terrified, she won't remember us as a monster._

_Yeah, but she won't remember us as-_

"Hey." Jessica's voice called from behind him, startling him out of his arguing mind. She'd stopped just by the edge of the space, next to the path, "I never got your name."

"Oh. It's Peter."

"Peter… Okay, how about your number?"

"My number?"

"Coms chip or whatever?" She asked cautiously. Peter's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he pulled his chip out.

"Erm, sure. Should I come over there or am I still too scary?"

Jessica laughed and shook her head at the ground, before walking up with her own chip. After a small beep, they put the chips away again.

"Thanks. I'd better get going then now. I'll call you some time."

Peter watched her run back up the path until she vanished around a corner, before punching the air triumphantly, and silently mouthing 'oh yeah'.

_You were saying?_

_Oh go to hell you bleeding optimist._

_

* * *

_

Eleanor was still watching Peter of the edge of the courtyard, fuming lividly, her knuckles turning white from the mobile grasped tightly in her hand.

_How dare you hang up on me! And how dare she distract my minion from my work?_

She wasn't particularly keen on her little researcher getting carried away with other girls. After all, as she saw it, it was an honour to be given such a job from her. She wouldn't just get some person involved in it on just a whim… well maybe a bit of a whim, but he said he had an interest and she could tell he was being modest about his knowledge on Eonic matters, so he was a better candidate than anyone else she could be bothered to think of. But the point still stood. HE'D hung up on HER. And that was something no-one got away with. Picking up a small pebble and turning it over in her hands, she contemplated. She was going to make him pay. Taking a few seconds to calculate, she threw the stone at his head. With a reassuring clunk, it bounced off his crown and into the fountain, and barely a second later the light crunch of gravel as he fell confirmed her objective. So maybe she did have a slightly sadistic streak… no-one got hurt. Well, she didn't, so it was alright.

Skipping down the path to her target, she fingered a pokeball on her belt lightly. Whilst there was no doubt that her dragging him across campus herself would attract a lot of undesirable attention, the Pokemon she had borrowed from her mother had grown… dubious tendencies under her mothers care about this sort of situation. Eleanor would describe her sexual behaviour as fairly vanilla, generally very little which would discourage a potential partner; probably her oddest aspect was she liked to have the bottom of her feet kissed, which wouldn't really be a stretch for most. Her mother on the other hand was a lot more hardball. Leather and chains were frequently involved, and that was just when she didn't feel like putting an effort into it. Until she'd settled down with her father, she would take who she wanted, whether they liked it or not. Acts which would not have passed without the help of…

Eleanor flicked the ball up into her hand, then released the Pokemon onto the ground.

The Hypno stood up squarely, shaking its mane as though it had just woken up before yawning loudly and letting his tongue loll out. He blinked slowly, before glancing up at Eleanor with a somewhat dozy smile on his face. Eleanor tilted her head in the direction of her unconscious captive, to which the Hypno's smile broadened into a more lewd manner.

"I need help bringing him to my room." She said quietly, not so much in fear of being overheard, more in the hope that Hypno could tell by her tone that she wasn't looking for hanky-panky. He didn't notice - the Pokemon brought his finger and thumb together on his left hand and motioned his index finger of the other into the circle; still sporting that lewd grin and now showing his teeth. She scowled fiercely and cuffed him over the head.

"No." She hissed at him, "I need to talk to him in private."

The Hypno looked distraught for a moment, before blowing through his lips in a very 'pfffft' manner and waving her request off. But despite his apparent disappointment he reluctantly obeyed and kneeled besides Peter. It had been quite a few years since her mother had had use for his species ability to animate the unconscious, but he still had a good knack for it. Holding his paws above the boy's chest he crooked his fingers as though he was holding marionette controls. Jerking them up he brought the boy into a sitting position and, after a moment of clambering, up into a standing position. His posture looked fairly natural, although his eyes being shut probably wouldn't go too unnoticed if he walked a long distance unaided like that.

"Okay, drape him over my shoulders, so it looks like he's drunk too much."

He obliged, walking Peter over next to Eleanor and placing one of his arms over her shoulder. As she took hold of that wrist to secure his arm in place, Hypno took the opportunity to attempt to fondle one of her breasts with the free hand but she snapped her other arm around Peter's waist and grasped the forearm firmly before it could get anywhere near. Peter slumped as the Hypno clicked his fingers in annoyance, absentmindedly losing half the control, and inadvertently his face brushed against her breast instead. She flushed in embarrassment and shook him back upright as Hypno regained control of his body.

"Okay, stay out of sight, follow behind closely. And if you touch me badly again I'm going to kick you in the face."

* * *

A hoard of snow-going vehicles was clustered outside the Cult's headquarters, and inside the main hall of the church had never seen so much jubilation. Rows of tables laden high with various meats and dishes, and every seat had an excited monk atop it babbling excitedly about the news that God had returned. The monk who had made the observation had become the centre of attention, his cheeks rosy with the cumulative effects of the Red Ales his peers had been offering him. The higher ranking members had already given him their warmest blessings, in the form of a Delibird so fresh it had yet to undergo rigour mortis. Naturally he was currently eating it alongside his closest friends.

The clinking of a spoon on the side of a brass goblet at the head table could be heard by anyone with their ear about a millimetre away from it. If it wasn't for the raucous bellow that accompanied it, no-one would have noticed the gesture as the abbot called for quiet.

"Friends! Pastors! Acolytes!" He shouted out, "May your feasts be red!"

"MAY YOUR FEASTS BE RED!" Called back the hoard in unison, followed by a cacophony of cutlery being banged against the table top. The abbot raised his hand aloft once more, regaining what could pass as a respectful silence.

"The Lord has returned in His tangible might! Tonight, and every night after, we will not need to fear the non believers, for there shall be no non believers!"

Again a roar of celebration rose from the assembled cultists, and after a minute the abbot rose a hand again for quiet.

"As I speak, our brothers among the unbelievers are working to spread the good news. Radio and Television will blare the message of His return. There will be a new Rationality, the Rationality of God, and He will be doted upon by all. Mere hours from now my brothers… we will receive the bounty for keeping our faith whilst others turned from His path. We… will… own!"

At that, the crowd burst into another fit of elation, and the Cult's festivities began for the evening.

Further afield, people who you would never have recognised as Cultists were mobilising in secret, infiltrating television studios and radio towers alike with freshly burnt CDs in their pockets. No region was exempt from impending broadcast.

* * *

Eleanor pushed Peter off her shoulder, sprawling him onto her bed. Rapidly recalling the Hypno before he made any sudden movements was her first priority, getting settled down secondary. She replaced the ball in a clip which would prevent it from opening accidentally and pulled her chair from under her desk, sitting on it backwards and resting her forearms on the back. Now was just a matter of waiting for him to wake up.

Within five minutes she'd got bored of waiting for him and took one of many books off her shelves. It was a little notebook she'd written scraps of information about various religions in; Religions of Mew, Celebi, and Rayquaza were fairly easy to find since they were the most vocal and fairly persistent, Jirachi, the Wishful Thinkers, had little data but similarly little influence. Sinnoh had too many minor deities and she'd given up on trying to disentangle them from each other.

Flipping the page over, she started thinking aloud.

"How does a religion with hundreds of thousands of followers suddenly disappear?" She asked to no-one in particular. Her interest was in the pantheon of Eonic Gods and she was particularly fond of conspiracy theories around them. The Rayquaza cults had recorded putting a lot of effort into hunting down its followers mercilessly but in retaliation, their own God was imprisoned. Something the cultists had pined over and vowed revenge over since.

But she'd figured that even in an orchestrated elimination plan, cultists simply wouldn't have the efficiency needed to capture, convert or kill every follower and eradicate every record. They would have needed the power of their god, or at least as much from other sources.

Her eureka moment was learning about the Gilded Land in secondary school. A stellar cataclysm which had shrouded the entire continent in metal in an instant would qualify as a power rivalling that of a God. She figured if that continent was the exclusive believer of the Eonic Pantheon, that instant had been responsible for such a sudden extinction. She'd mentioned that theory in her application letter for this university, and it was revealed in her acceptance letter that that had been a pivotal asset in her acceptance, changing the universities stance from 'We'll have you' to 'We need you'.

Eleanor jumped in alarm as Peter made a sudden and prolonged pained groaning sound and in panic as he stretched into a sitting position, she rabbit-punched him on the forehead. Unconsciousness was immediately resumed whilst Eleanor took a few moments to let her breathing rate subside again.

"Don't interrupt me whilst I'm thinking." She told his unconscious form, who was no doubt oblivious to the advice.

Anyway, resuming the Pantheon, another theory she had been cooking up was that the imprisonment of Rayquaza and the stellar cataclysm were one and the same but she planned to save research in that direction for getting her professorship.

As she looked across at the radio playing quiet evening music, she inwardly whimpered to herself that she wouldn't be able to live that dream. That screech was Rayquaza, back from limbo, and proof to the unthinking masses that the Cultists view of the world was the right one. Certainly with the power of a God at their back, it wouldn't take long for their order to override civilisation. And with that, there would be no need for historians, all the records a Cultist would want were readily at hand, maintained by their few archivists. Looking into Eonic culture as favourably as she did would result in a rapid execution.

Eleanor looked back over at Peter, and watched him for a few more minutes until he started to stir again. She smirked sadistically as one of his hands made a beeline for his forehead, but she made sure she was straight-faced again before he opened his eyes.

"Gruuuuuu… you punched me in the face." He grumbled, massaging his forehead and brow with his palm. Eleanor's eyebrow made a telltale twitch briefly but she shook her head.

"No I didn't."

"It was only a few minutes ago."

"Nope, first time you've woken up since I got you back here." She lied innocently again. She met his gaze and stared him down, daring him to argue more, but he conceded and rubbed his face in his hands.

"You're in my room by the way." She told him to pre-emptively answer his question.

"I know." He said, not stopping pawing at his face.

"You don't know, I've just told you."

He took his face out of his hands, and looked around her room.

"This room is smaller than mine so its not mine. There's no-one else in here so it's probably your room."

"Your room is bigger than mine?" She asked. Peter opened his mouth awkwardly but couldn't think of any retort to that. She shook her head, "You rich fucker."

"75%"

Eleanor aahed at the statement, nodding appreciatively. Academic excellence had warranted students from poorer areas being awarded a percentage discount on their tuition. She was on the same tariff.

"So you're sharp. Good. Eons."

"What?"

"Why you're here rather than drowning in a toilet. I need-"

"Wait."

"Shut up." She demanded, silencing him, "You're on my team. There's-"

"Team?"

"Zip it! There's no time for the details. Knowing about Strato Cult is a given. Their god broke loose at the café, within a few hours they'll be broadcasting to let the world know maths is wrong and they were right. They'll be in charge."

"And?" Peter snipped in when she took a long pause for breath. She took a deep breath again, exhaling slowly as she scrutinised him, as though she could learn everything he knew by glaring at him.

"Tell me your fairy tales. I want to put their god back."

Peter raised his hands submissively, before cupping his face in them.

"I don't know much about imprisonment."

"I don't want telling what you don't know, I want what you do know."

He sighed into his palms, and slid them down palm to palm with his nose between his fingers.

"The gods took Heaven and used it to create Hell." He said quietly, "That's all I know."

"And the Beast was trapped in Hell?" She proffered. He nodded, and she smirked, jotting it into her notebook.

"So it was imprisoned through a stellar cataclysm. So that means it _was_ imprisoned in the Gilded Land."

"Can I go now?" Peter asked, sliding himself off her bed. She shot him a menacing glare and motioned for him to sit back down.

"No. I'm bouncing ideas off you. Be honoured."

"Okay…"

"Be more honoured than that."

"Um… thanks."

"Shut up. The prison will still be there, just open. If it was fixed, Rayquaza could be lured back in and sealed back up again." She narrated.

Peter nodded absently at her, barely understanding the plan. Eleanor watched him expectantly for a few moments waiting for him to realise he was now allowed, in fact required, to speak.

_Oh shit._ He finally noticed.

"Err, How?" He asked her. She looked at the roof for a second, before bowing her head in thought.

_Nice save._

"The prison was probably the wind temple." She said, "I'll need a mechanic."

The sudden burst of static from the radio attracted their attention, white noise filling the room for ten seconds. They shared a nervous glance with each other as the static died down and a new voice spoke from the speaker.

"For the people of the world and mongrels that pretend to be. Do not turn off your set. I would apologise for interrupting your daily viewing, but your kind never apologised to us. We represent the Cult of Strato, and God has returned. Six hours ago, every mongrel of you heard the roar of our Lord awakening. His hunting call, to purge the unfit from the world. Our vigilance and faith was rewarded as we saw Him fly overhead and now we offer you the tape to show you the truth. Your governments have twenty four hours to submit to our authority, otherwise the wrath of God will be wrought upon them. Look at the Gilded Land. That's the future of those whose resist. May your feasts be red."

The abbot's voice ended, and the sound of the Rayquaza's roaring continued from the speakers.


End file.
